


And then you go steal a man’s hat.

by FeltAutomaton



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 18:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeltAutomaton/pseuds/FeltAutomaton
Summary: The Black Dragon gets a new team member.Kano is a prick (but I love him so won't be too mean about him), Erron and Kabal do fuck all work and mess about.





	And then you go steal a man’s hat.

**Author's Note:**

> Erron Black is a very sexy man. We all love him. So here is a thing about Erron and a lucky lady. I've left her nameless and pretty nondescript so she can easily be a reader insert (just without it being in first person). Here's just a chapter and I'm never happy with anything I've written so it'll probably be edited in the future.
> 
> Just some smooching in this chapter, if anyone reads it and likes it then future chapters will have filth in them, and there are plans for angst and maybe more.
> 
> I cannot write without adding (what I hope is) humour. Sorry, there will be idiocy. and a lot of swearing, sorry.

“I reckon you’ve been angling for my attention.” He effects boredom. Arms crossed, head tilting to the right, his weight shifting to one hip and trying so very hard to hide the grin that threatens.

“And then you go steal a man’s hat.”

“Did it work?” She steps backwards and nudges up the brim of his hat upwards with the tip of a finger. The front tilts upwards to reveal her smiling face. White teeth glint in the gloom of the corridor, matched by the flash of her eyes.

“You know my eyes haven’t left you since I first spied you.”

He wasn’t lying. He and Kabal had been debating the rules of their most recent ‘I hate this job and I hate Kano even more’ game that they’d invented whilst Kano was out of the office. This latest game had involved them being blindfolded and navigating an obstacle course made from Kano’s half empty beer bottles. You could only use 1 foot to propel yourself around the obstacle course and had to be seated in their chair. Kabal was adamant that he was not cheating using his speed to right the bottles before they fell over whilst Erron was adamant Kabal was cheating. Kano had flung the door open and tossed insults at them both then introduced the team to the newest recruit. Erron rolled his eyes and was about to fire off some insults of his own when he noticed the woman beside Kano. She was damn cute. Big eyes, shiny hair, black jeans clung to thighs that could crush his waist like a vice as she rode him. Finished with a smile that would have even a humourless prick like Tremor smiling back. Not that he’d ever say that to Tremor’s face. Erron was quite attached to his head, he wouldn’t want to lose it.

Erron had nodded a grin that he was well aware was too eager (Kabal had snorted with laughter) and Erron had followed along with her ‘tour’ around the Fight Club and tried very hard to affect nonchalance.

“Always the Bounty Hunter.” She matches his pose; the widening smile tells she knows they’re both playing.

“Never know when someone’s watching your back.” He nodded towards her ass.

“Or your arse. And you’ve got a fantastic arse.”

He laughs at that and his hands drop to his hips. He thinks about grabbing her hips to pull her to him, but it’s too soon, and he wants her to touch him first, so he can pretend he has control over his thoughts.

“That I do, sugar. Might be even better than yours.” He’s going to break and touch her.

At his words she adopts a wounded pout and adds in a sad sniffle.

“And I’ve been working out really hard. I’ve clenched through Johnny Cage’s ‘Work that Ass’ video every day this month trying to get a bum as toned as his, and that video is so awful it’s given me PTSD.”

“Now that I gotta see.” He means her ass.

“But it’s possibly the only copy left in the world. I had to nick it from the library.” She knows he means her ass, her smile is only getting bigger.

“But an ass like mine, if I don’t keep on top of it, it might end up like Kano’s.” His smile almost drops as his mind flashes to Kano’s arse, which Kano often flashes when he’s screwing some pretty young thing in the office. Erron has never worked out how the fuck the Aussie prick manages to charm anyone into sex but somehow Kano does. Regularly. And the Aussie prick always fucking waits until he knows Erron is going to happen by the office. Prick.

She leans forward when she laughs, a hand flat to her chest. His eyes flicker to the swell of her breasts beneath thin fabric then quickly find her face again when she lifts her head to smile back and make his pants feel a bit tighter than they should.

It’s hot in the Fight Club. No windows lessen the risk of a surprise invasion by Special Forces, or idiots who baulk at paying on the door. It was also to ensure the female customers and fighters wore less layers, Kano had grinned revoltingly when he’d explained this idea to Erron and Kabal. Now there wasn’t nothing with a lady dressing for the weather, but it felt cheap to do it like that. Erron had rubbed his temples with his long fingers and sighed with resignation. Maybe he was old fashioned, still thought a lady looked her best when she left something to the imagination, and he didn’t mean the corsets and layers of skirts that got in the way when he’d been in the mood for a tumble in the hay in his youth, though, when wasn’t he in the mood for a tumble in the hay?

Bright eyes and a wide smile added a few degrees to the heat inside the club. Sweat prickled along his hairline and at the base of his spine. His fingers twitched like he was readying for a stand-off. Just fucking touch her, his brain urged, she touched you first so…?

That’s how she’d taken his hat. They’d been teasing since Kano had introduced them. A beefy arm slung around her shoulders, the other pointing out the features the club had to offer, hint: none, her nodding along whilst trying not to look too revolted at being so close to a Kano armpit.

“Like the hat.”

“The ladies always do.”

“Bugger it, if only I was a lady. I bet I’d look good in that hat.”

She sounded like a lady, like Elizabeth Wooldensted who’d been uprooted from London and dragged to Wickett by a husband with gold fever. A stone-cold bitch so uptight that Erron had laughed in her face when she’d slapped him hard for suggesting a tumble in the hay might twist that pretty mouth into a smile. He had got a smile out of her, several smiles, before she’d taken with typhoid and died, horribly. That had been a real shame, underneath the cold exterior she’d been loving and generous, a sharp mind willing to spend time talking and teaching Erron about the wider world when they weren’t exploring one another in bed, or in the stables, or out on the prairie or even behind the saloon. Erron had spent a good long time mourning for her and still had a Colt Peacemaker he’d named ‘Lizzie’ after her. The cherrywood hilt, same shade as Elizabeth’s long, shiny hair, was smooth from handling all these years and though her face wasn’t as clear in his memories, all he had to do was pick up the revolver and he was back to his youth, long days under a bright sun with no care for anything but the afternoons he’d spend with his Lady from London.

“So, you fancy buying me a drink?” Her smile turns shyer, her hands slide into the back pockets of her jeans, her body twisting side to side as she waits for his answer.

“I fancy doin’ a lotta things with you, sugar. But sure, let’s start with a drink.” Erron grins when her gaze drops but her smile grows.

The first drink is at a bar 2 blocks away. They’re not having a drink at the Fight Club because it’s a shithole. The bar he’s taken her to might look like a shithole from the outside, but inside it’s cosy and comfortable and there’s no Kano. There’s even an unoccupied booth at the back that Celene the owner nods Erron towards.

His bourbon is sweet like caramel and smoky. She orders vodka and when he pulls her into their first kiss, the peppery bite tingles on his tongue. Her fingers curl into his hair, gently tugging to indicate her pleasure. Her tongue finds his when Erron’s hands grasp her firm buttocks and squeezes, squeezing again because she slides onto his lap and presses hard against him. She’s warm and he wants her now, but they’re in a bar and, fuck, she wriggles when his fingers dip beneath the hem of her shirt to stroke her lower back. He pulls back and blinks slowly as he grins down at her, the kiss and the strong drink leaving him with a soft buzz. His hands are still on her, her fingers are still in his hair and “Hell woman, you’re gonna have me busting outta these pants if you keep that up.”


End file.
